


Guns n' Roses (Bang Bang)

by booksaremyreality



Series: Teen Wolf/Vampire Diaries Crossover [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pizza, Sad, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:45:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksaremyreality/pseuds/booksaremyreality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles sat in the large, empty living room sipping tea that was much too hot and burned his tongue. He stared listlessly at the crackling fire trying to figure out how the fuck he was going to get through the next couple months. With both his parents gone, Stiles felt hopelessly lost, drowning in a vast ocean of depression with no one to keep him afloat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guns n' Roses (Bang Bang)

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for suicide

Stiles sat in the large, empty living room sipping tea that was much too hot and burned his tongue. He stared listlessly at the crackling fire trying to figure out how the fuck he was going to get through the next couple months. With both his parents gone, Stiles felt hopelessly lost, drowning in a vast ocean of depression with no one to keep him afloat. He shivered, he was constantly cold even with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and the fire five feet away from him. 

“Here, put this on.” Damon held a sweatshirt up under his nose that read UCLA. Stiles raised an eyebrow. 

 “When did you go to UCLA?” 

“I didn’t. Just put the sweater on.” Stiles put the tea on the floor beside his feet and pulled the sweater over his head. It was warm and smelled like fresh laundry. 

“Thanks.” Damon framed his face with his cool hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“You’re welcome.” Stiles sipped his tea idly, the brew had gone cold but he drank it anyway. A hand came down on his shoulder, startling so badly he jerked, spilling the remaining tea over his wrist and hand. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m Elena.” 

“Which one are you, sorry or Elena?" Stiles said wryly. She smiled but it seemed forced. 

 “You know I lost my parents too, a couple years ago in a car accident. We drove off a bridge into a river and--” 

 “No offense but hearing about your dead family isn’t gonna make me feel better. I know you’re just trying to be nice but I don’t really feel like swapping sob stories at the moment.” Stiles avoided her gaze, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of the sweatshirt. 

 “Well, just, if you need someone to talk to, you know, about anything, I’m here.” Stiles hugged his knees to his chest and buried himself into the corner of the couch, trying to make himself as small as possible. Elena reached out to touch his knee and he whimpered and flinched away from here, curling tighter into himself. 

 “Elena.” Damon said shortly. She pulls her hand back. 

 “I was only trying to help.” 

 “Do you think a stranger giving him almost meaningless platitudes is going to help?” 

 “You’re such an asshole sometimes.” Elena snapped, getting up from the couch and stalking away. Damon kneeled in front of Stiles, laying a hand on his clenched hands. 

 “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Stiles released his knees only to grip Damon’s hand tightly. “Would you like to go out into town, hm? Get some fresh air.” Damon ran his free hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. Stiles sniffed and nodded. 

 “Okay. But I need to shower.” Damon showed him where the shower was and gave him a towel. 

 “Just call if you need anything, okay?” 

 Stiles nodded and he could feel his chin wobbling again, the threat of tears imminent. He turned quickly to face the wall, not wanting Damon to see him cry again. Stiles felt weak, even though he knew it was perfectly normal to cry, his dad had just _died_ but even so he felt weak. He turned on the shower, making it as hot as it would go and stepped inside. The hot water relaxed his tense muscles. Suddenly a sob forced his way out of his mouth, jerking in his chest. Salty tears mixed with fresh shower water mingled on his face as he sobbed uncontrollably. Stiles hoped the roar of the shower masked his crying. He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the wet walls of the shower. Stiles’ knees buckled under him threatening to collapse. 

* * *

 

 It took ten minutes for Stiles’ tears to stop. He washed off quickly and stepped out of the shower, shivering as the cold air hit his red hot skin. The mirror was fogged with steam. He wiped away a part of it and his pale reflection looked back at him. Stiles looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot from crying, dark bags shaded under his eyes and his cheeks were sunken in, cheekbones sharp and cutting. He hadn’t eaten since his father died two days ago and it could be is imagination but it was already starting to show. Stiles slid on the sweatpants and long sleeve shirt Damon had left out for him. He put on the sneakers he arrived in and started down the hallway. 

 Stiles walked down the stairs slowly, joints aching. Damon was waiting down stairs, leaning a hip on the edge of the couch. He looked up from whatever he was doing on his phone. His face twisted, lips curling in pity. 

 “Come here.” Damon murmured. Stiles shuffled over to him, stopping in front of him. Even though Stiles was taller than Damon he still felt small standing in front of him, like a volatile child. 

 “You are so strong, Stiles. The amount of pain you and your friends have been through only to survive and keep going. You’re so strong and I believe you can get through this. And I’ll be here every step of the way.” Stiles’ lips trembled, tears gathering in his eyes but he kept them at bay. Stiles followed Damon to the front door. The sun, which he hadn’t seen in three days, was brightly shinning, burning his eyes. He flinched, covering his eyes with his hand. 

 “Here.” Damon handed him a pair of sunglasses. The car ride into town was silent. Stiles didn’t ask where they were going, he didn’t care. They pulled into a small town, buzzing with activity. Damon parked the car in front of what looked to be a pizza shop. 

 Before Stiles could fully step out of the car someone grabbed his throat and slammed him against the concrete wall. The sunglasses on his face clattered to the floor. The attacker was strong enough to raise his entire body. His brain screamed at him to fight, to struggle and kick but he simply just hung there, limp. 

 “Who are you?” The person growled. His uneven jaw and tan skin reminded him so much of Scott that he began to cry uncontrollably. The person hesitated, loosening his grip on Stiles neck. 

 “What the fuck did you do?” Damon snapped, ripping the person away from Stiles. He sank to the floor gasping and crying as Damon ripped the guy a knew one. “Are you out of your fucking mind, Lockwood? You can’t just go around threatening strangers!” 

 “He smells like wolf!” The guy, Lockwood, snapped. Stiles looked up, after he had reigned in his crying, to see Damon standing protectively in front of him. 

 “Of course he does! He’s part of a pack in California, but Stiles is human.” 

 “What’s a Stiles?” The guy said, confused. Stiles sobbed out a laugh, Lydia’s strawberry red hair flashing in his mind. Damon turned from Lockwood to face him, eyebrows furrowing. 

 “Get up.” Stiles struggled to stand, pushing his hands against the cold concrete wall behind him. Damon grabbed his elbow firmly and led him inside, bypassing the tables and going straight to the bathrooms. Stiles could feel the beginnings of a panic attack coming on, his hands shaking wildly. A fews head looked up as he stumbled clumsily across the floor. 

 In the bathroom, Damon jerked Stiles’ to stand up straight and looked him directly in the eyes. 

 “Stop panicking.” Damon’s pupils widened then returned their normal size. A sudden calm came over Stiles and his panic dissipated. His eyes fluttered. 

 “What did you just do?” He breathed. 

 “I compelled you. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” 

 “No, thank you. Panic attacks aren’t exactly a pleasant experience.”

 “Let’s go get some food.” Stiles nodded shakily and followed Damon to a secluded booth near the back of the restaurant. Damon sat across from him. Lockwood suddenly slid into the booth next to him. Stiles jumped, slamming his shoulder into the wooden walls of the restaurant. 

 “Hey, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

 “How am I supposed to believe that.” Stiles said quietly, still squeezed against the corner of the booth. 

 “Lockwood, switch with me.” Damon said, getting up. 

 “What? I said I wouldn’t hurt him.” 

 “Switch.” Damon growled. Lockwood held his hands up in surrender and switched with Damon. Stiles relaxed when Damon slid in the seat next to him. Stiles slumped down, making himself as small as possible. He curled into Damon’s side practically in his lap. 

 “What the fuck is wrong with him?” Lockwood asked rudely.

 “My dad just died.” Stiles said, regretting it immediately. He didn’t want these peoples pity. 

 “I’m sorry.” Lockwood said, face instantly changing. 

 “So am I.” Stiles said.

 “Are you guys ready to order?” A perky waitress asked, clearly oblivious to the serious conversation. 

 “Yeah, I’ll have a slice of pepperoni and a sprite please.” Lockwood said, flashing a charming smile. 

 “Nothing for me.” Damon said. 

 “Water.” Stiles said quietly. Damon frowned at him. 

 “Stiles, you need to eat.” 

 “Just water.” Stiles clenched Damon’s hand in his under the table and Damon stroked his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles. 

 “So where did you come from? ‘Cause I haven’t seen you around here before.” 

 “Damon already said, I’m from California.” 

 “Well what are you doing here?” 

 “I needed to get away from my town.” 

 “So you just left your fathers dead body, rotting somewhere? No funeral? Just pack up and left?” At each word, Stiles squeezed tighter and tighter, shrinking into the plush leather of the booth chair. 

 “Enough, Lockwood.” Damon snarled, for half a second Damon’s eyes turned black and the veins surrounding his eyes turned dark as well. 

 “Here’s your pizza and your drinks!” The waitress said. Stiles finally let go of Damon’s hand to grip the cup. It slipped in his hands, wet with condensation. He hoped the drink would calm his frayed nerves. He zoned out, staring blankly at the table, as Lockwood and Damon continued their conversation. 

 “Who’s this?” A new, female, voice said. Stiles looked up to see a pretty blond girl, for a second he thought _Erica_ but then he remembered: Erica was dead. 

 “Caroline, this is Stiles.” 

 “You’re not eating anything? This is the best pizza in town!” She said cheerfully. 

 “I’m not hungry.” Stiles whispered. 

 She scoffed. “Teenage boys are always hungry.” 

 “Well I’m not.” _Not when my father has just died._

 “Stiles, you need to eat it’s been three days. All you’ve had is tea and water. Don’t make me beg.” Stiles stayed silent. He couldn’t eat, he _couldn’t._ Damon pursed his lips. “Please.” 

 “One slice. Plain.” 

 “Thank you.” Damon hesitated for a second before pressing a quick kiss to his temple. Damon wasn’t one for public displays of affection outside the occasional hug or hand holding, so the little gesture meant a lot to Stiles. 

 “Oh, you two are ... together?” The waitress blurted, appearing out of nowhere. 

 “Is that a problem?” Damon raised an eyebrow. “And also we’d like another slice, plain please.” 

 “Sure, coming right up.” She gave an attempt at her earlier enthusiasm but fell short. The table fell under an uncomfortable silence. Five minutes later the pizza came. 

 Stiles ate slowly, taking small bites of the cheesy slice. Eventually Lockwood, whose first name he found out to be Tyler, and Caroline left. Fifteen minutes later and Stiles had only finished half of the pizza. 

 “I can’t eat anymore.” Stiles pushed the plate away from him, feeling sick from the little he had eaten. Damon paid for the food and they left. 

 The ride back was silent. The house was silent when they arrived back home. 

 “What would you like to do?” Damon asked suddenly.

 “Hm?” Stiles hummed. “Oh, I guess sleep.” For some reason the words were choppy and broken in his mouth, rendering him unable to form correct sentences. 

 “Okay, go get ready. I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.” Damon pulled out his phone and began typing on it. Stiles went up stairs to the room Damon had designated as his, opening the closet where he had put his stuff. Next to the duffel bag was a decorative silver box. Slowly he bent to kneel in front of it. He ran his fingers along the cool edges of the box until he found the latch the opened it. Inside was a pistol, with intricate details etched into the grip. It looked to be from the 19th century. Next to it, laying in the red velvet, were six gold gilded bullets. 

 It was like seeing the gun had flipped a switch in Stiles’ brain. As if on autopilot he grabbed the gun and began loading the bullets into it. Stiles wasn’t a particularly religious guy but what was waiting on the other side had to be better than this. He would see his mom and his dad. Maybe even Erica and Boyd. 

 Stiles sat down on the bed, pushing the cold barrel up against his stomach. Why not his head? It would be quick, easy. 100 percent guarantee that he would die. So why couldn’t he do it? Stiles cocked the hammer, the click echoed loudly in the silent room. 

  _do it._

  _DO IT._

  _DO IT!_

  _bang._

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism welcome! any ideas or request please let me know!


End file.
